Malfoy the Mad Muggle
by Katnell
Summary: When Malfoy is sentenced to live as a Muggle for one month, he turns to Hermione for help.
1. My Own Worst Enemy

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter series or characters. I just like to let my imagination run free.  
  
Prologue: My Own Worst Enemy  
  
Draco casually flipped through a magazine as if he were in the waiting room of a Muggle dentist's office rather than a judiciary hearing at the Ministry of Magic. When Draco came to the middle of the magazine, he found none other than the great Harry Potter himself grinning back at him. Draco shouldn't have been surprised; Harry was in the news even more since he defeated Voldemort right before graduation two years ago.  
  
What did the great git do this time? Draco wondered. When he looked at the front cover, he found the headline Harry Potter, Greatest Hero of Our Time, Weds Quibbler Heiress.  
  
Draco then realized he was, in fact, reading The Quibbler. He turned back to the pictures of Harry's wedding to Luna Lovegood. There was Harry, as scar-headed as ever, his arm around his bride, who Draco thought was kind of hot, even though she was a bit of a nutter. Her long blonde hair fell delicately around her bare shoulders. On the other side of Harry, of course, red hair flaming, was Weasley, patting Harry on the back. Also in the picture was a voluptuous redhead, whom Draco vaguely remembered from Hogwarts because she was Weasley's sister and because she had a bit of a reputation for being good at "Charms". Draco recalled one particular drunken Saturday night when he had tried to sample Ginny's Lucky Charms for himself and had ended up a eunuch until Monday when the spell wore off.  
  
Draco averted his eyes quickly, as picture Ginny had started giggling when she noticed him eyeing her. There was a girl with long, flowing hair standing next to Ginny, but Draco could not see much of her face, as she was being attacked by the overzealous bouquet. To Draco it all seemed overly sappy. He guessed it was everything Potter had ever wanted out of life.  
  
A guard strode over to where Draco was sitting. "They're ready for you now, Mr. Malfoy," he said without emotion. As Draco rose, he realized that Potter's gal-pal Granger was absent from the photo. Probably hiding those teeth from the camera, he thought, forgetting that she had had her teeth fixed after he cursed her back in their fourth year.  
  
All thoughts of Potter and his parade of ponces vanished as Draco entered the courtroom. Since the end of the war, Draco had kept his views on Mudbloods to himself, but every so often he liked to go out and have a little fun with Muggles. Maiming and killing were out of the question (to be honest, Draco had never had much passion for maiming to begin with), but Draco liked to play with them. They were such simple creatures, after all. Unfortunately, the Muggle whose arms and legs he had switched was actually a Squib who recognized him.  
  
And so Draco had ended up here, face-to-face with the junior assistants to the new Minister of Magic. Draco did not bother to suppress his disdain. As if it weren't bad enough that Arthur Weasley had been appointed Minister after the war (Fudge died in battle), he had called upon his twin sons, whose joke shop was being managed by Lee Jordan, to assist him. Dumbledore, of course, encouraged this blatant act of nepotism, having said the best way to recover from the horror of war was through humor.  
  
Fred and George certainly did have a sense of humor, and they had no qualms about abusing their new power. Especially in Draco's case.  
  
"For his hate crimes against Muggles and Muggle-borns, we hereby sentence Draco Malfoy to live as a Muggle for thirty-one days," George declared.  
  
"Your wand please, Mr. Malfoy," Fred requested. Draco reluctantly handed over his wand. "Mugglify!" Fred said with two swishes of his wand, and sent Draco on his way. 


	2. Man Overboard

Chapter One: Man Overboard A/N: Be warned: I am a big fan of the "."  
  
The guards emptied Draco's pockets and counted his money. He only had 60 Galleons, 5 Sickles and 7 Knuts on him (hardly enough to support a Malfoy for three days!), but they wouldn't allow him to go to Gringotts. Instead they handed him a pile of thin paper and some coins. Draco examined the colored paper in disbelief. surely this couldn't be money? What was to stop a Muggle from making his own? Parchment, colored ink and some artistic talent was all it would take.  
  
Draco shoved the money into his pocket and stalked out of the Ministry into Muggle London. He swore at himself for letting this happen. You see, a wizard must willingly agree to have his power temporarily removed. Otherwise, wizards could take advantage of each other. Voldemort could have rendered Harry useless and vice versa. Either way, the war would have been a lot shorter. But ancient magic protects all witches and wizards of being stripped of magic against their will. So why did Draco willingly hand over his wand? It was simple, really. As much as he detested Muggles, they were simple creatures, and he was a Malfoy. Surely he could handle being a simpleton for a month. Crabbe and Goyle did it all the time. And he was sure it was better than the alternative; a month in Azkaban with the mysterious new guards Dumbledore had replaced the Dementors with.  
  
So here he was. "Draco Malfoy, Muggle," he spat, disgusted. He stepped out of the phone booth into the pouring rain. Draco no longer had his robes, had neglected to bring an umbrella and could not conjure one. He stood, sopping wet on the corner as the realization that he had nowhere to go hit him. He began walking, in search of a place to wait out the rain and to form a plan. A Muggle vehicle drove past, splashing Draco as it went. He could feel strands of hair pasted to his forehead. Ignoring the chill rushing through him, Draco watched the cars go by. He noted they were more effective than umbrellas at keeping Muggles dry, and they could take him places to boot. If only he could get one. but how? He didn't know how much his Muggle money would buy him.  
  
"All right, mate?" A Muggle man yelled, as he passed Draco under cover of an umbrella. "Shoulda watched the Weather!"  
  
Draco eyed the man uncertainly. Do Muggles have a way of predicting the weather? Do they know about Divination? The Muggle then stepped into the street and raised a hand. Aha! He's hailing the Knight Bus; he must be a wizard! With the hope that this man could help him, Draco ran up behind him.  
  
Just then, a black Muggle car came to a stop, and the man hopped in the rear. "Sorry mate, you'll have to get your own taxi!" the man said cheerfully. Draco heard the man give the driver an address and the car sped off, leaving Draco wet and pissed off.  
  
So some of these Muggle cars will give you rides. Now he had a way to get out of the rain. "But where am I going to go?" he asked. He remembered seeing something called a Phone Book in the phone booth. From what Draco had observed Muggles doing, he gathered that a phone was something akin to a fireplace, except that you couldn't see who you were talking to. He started back toward the Ministry phone booth he had come out of, but realized there was another one just across the way. He hoped they all worked the same.  
  
Draco stepped into the shelter; he was pleased to find that these phone books listed addresses as well as phone numbers. He had to admit that was pretty clever of the Muggles. It wasn't as efficient as the Floo Network, but it was the best thing he had right now. Draco felt a glimmer of hope, but it disappeared the moment he realized he didn't know anyone who would be listed in a Muggle directory. After all, Malfoys didn't associate with Mudbloods.  
  
"Bloody hell," he said. Life as a Muggle just got a little worse. Draco flipped to the G's, and sure enough, "Granger, H." was listed. He tore out the page and scanned the street for black cars. He spotted what seemed to be a taxi queue a ways down, where Muggles were waiting in turn for cabs. Draco was surprised by their docility; he'd always pictured Muggles to be rather barbaric. He queued up and eavesdropped on a group of teenaged Muggles as he waited. They all seemed to be talking about a fellow called Robbie Williams. Draco assumed this must be the Muggle Prime Minister, though Muggle politics must be different than Wizard politics, because Draco was sure no teenaged girl had ever expressed a desire to "do" former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge.  
  
Draco forgot just how wet he was until he got into the car. He shivered and pushed his hair to one side. Now that he was in the car, he wasn't quite sure what to do. "Um, I need to go to Baker Street. Uh, 110 Baker Street." The driver nodded, and the car lurched away.  
  
A short while later, the cab came to a halt outside an unobtrusive white building. The driver looked at Draco expectantly. Draco panicked; he knew he was supposed to pay, but he didn't know how much or what kind of bills to give the man. The driver tapped a box impatiently. "12,40" the driver said. Draco looked at the notes in his hand. He found one marked "10" and fumbled through his coins. He found two with "2" printed on them, and nervously handed the money to the driver. The man grunted, and Draco assumed he had given enough. He stepped out of the car and prepared to face Hermione. She was the only person who could help him. Unfortunately, she also despised him. 


	3. Knocking on Heaven's Door

Chapter Two: Knocking on Heaven's Door  
  
Hermione was belting out 80s tunes when Draco buzzed. "I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky! I should be so lucky in love!" she sang, bending down to grab Crookshanks. The cat, which had been happily napping, began kicking with his hind legs, but Hermione didn't care. Still singing, she held the big cat in front of the mirror so he could admire himself. "You're so handsome, aren't you Crookshanks? Yes, you are, my little handsome man!" The cat wiggled himself free, leaving Hermione watching herself get her groove on. Mid-spin, she caught sight of someone else in the mirror.  
  
Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready, when she realized the intruder was not actually in the house. Draco Malfoy's ferrety face was pressed up against her bay window, with a look of shock on his face. Too embarrassed that Malfoy (of all people!) had just seen her doing something very private, Hermione flung open her front door, forgetting that this wasn't Hogwarts, she hadn't seen him in two years, and Malfoy had no earthly business showing up at her door.  
  
"Malfoy! How dare you spy on me like that!"  
  
Had Draco been his normal self, he would have had a searing comment ready for her. Instead, he was cold, wet and feeling a bit lost. All he could manage was a weak, "Uh, hullo Granger."  
  
Hermione came to her senses. "Why are you here?" she demanded, shoving her wand in his face.  
  
Draco couldn't hold back a smile; Hermione's face was twisted into that familiar fury reserved especially for him. Facing down the tip of her wand, Draco felt strangely at home, and much more like himself. Grinning, he pushed his way past her. "Is this where you live, then?"  
  
His brass incensed her. "Malfoy. what. I didn't invite you in!" she sputtered.  
  
Draco chuckled. "I'm not a vampire, Granger." He ignored her glare and took in his surroundings. Hermione's flat was a mixture of magic and Muggle. There were moving pictures on the mantle (all of which were currently glaring at him, as well), but there was a box with antennae against one wall, and a smaller box without the antennae on her desk, next to a pile of parchment and some quills.  
  
Hermione couldn't believe Draco Malfoy, her sworn enemy since she was eleven, was standing in her flat, dripping water on her rug and staring intently at her computer monitor. It would have been funny if he hadn't once been a Dark Wizard.  
  
"Malfoy," she threatened. "You have ten seconds to tell me why you're here before I turn you into a ferret and let the Ministry deal with you."  
  
Am I ever going to live that ferret thing down? Blasted Moody. "The Ministry's already dealt with me," he muttered.  
  
"As far as I can see, you don't look anymore ferrety than usual, Malfoy, so what do you mean the Ministry's already dealt with you? And why are you in my flat?"  
  
"Because I need your help." Draco was surprised at how easily the words came out. So was Hermione.  
  
"My. help?" Despite herself, Hermione wanted to hear more.  
  
"Those bloody Weasley twins turned me into a Muggle for a whole month."  
  
"You're lying. I mean, it does sound like something Fred and George would do, but they wouldn't be able to do it unless you agreed to it. "  
  
Draco looked at the puddle around his feet. Hermione studied his face. He looks like he's telling the truth. but then again, it is Malfoy. Hermione wasn't a Legilimens, but she didn't think he was lying. She saw the humiliation in his eyes. Still, it could be a trick. But Hermione couldn't help but notice Draco's features seemed softer somehow. Not entirely; the humiliation in his eyes still flickered with malice.  
  
A quick chat in the fireplace with George Weasley's head confirmed Malfoy's predicament. "OK, so you're a Muggle now. That still doesn't explain why you came to me," Hermione said.  
  
Draco wanted to sit down, but he had a feeling Hermione would be less likely to help him if he got her cushions all wet. Better play nice. "I don't know any Muggles and you're the only Mudbl-er Muggle-born I know," he said.  
  
"What about Harry? He was raised by Muggles," Hermione pointed out.  
  
Draco was taken aback. He hadn't even considered going to Potter. "You think I'd go to Scarhead for help? I bet he'd just love that! No way," he covered quickly. "Besides, isn't he on his romantic story-book honeymoon or whatever?"  
  
Hermione's stomach gave a little lurch. Probably just nausea. "You don't know any other Muggle-borns? None of your old Slytherin chums you could go to?"  
  
Draco looked at her like she was a moron. Which she is. Even if her hair isn't as big of a frizzball as it used to be. Maybe the frizz was the secret to her intellect. Either way, she was still a moron.  
  
Hermione felt like a moron for saying it. Honestly, Hermione! Are there any Muggle-borns in Slytherin?  
  
"All right, Malfoy. I'll let you stay here until we find something permanent, but you're going to have to play by my rules. You do what I say and you'll make it through this month alive. But if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I'll turn you into a ferret and let Crookshanks have his way with you. Got it?"  
  
Draco eyed the fat ginger cat snoring on the sofa. "Crookshanks is the cat, then?" At the sound of his name, Crookshanks opened a sleepy eye to Malfoy. He didn't look like the kind of cat who took kindly to ferrets. "Right then."  
  
Hermione sighed, wondering why she was being so damn valiant all of a sudden. That was usually Harry's role. She rationalized that she was keeping hoards of unsuspecting Muggles from Malfoy. Even without magic, she was sure he was still dangerous. Though it was true Malfoy had stopped being a Death Eater after his father died, he didn't give up Muggle- baiting, and not all his "tricks" had been light-hearted body part switching, from what she'd heard from Ron, who heard it from Fred and George, who heard it from Mundungus Fletcher, who always seemed to show up just in time to witness the prank, but just late enough to be of any use in helping the victim or catching Malfoy.  
  
Just be careful, Hermione. He may not be a wizard, but he could still hurt you or rape you or. No. He wouldn't have come here if he didn't really need my help. Oh dear. What is wrong with me? Malfoy is in my house. And I'm letting him stay.  
  
Hermione seemed to be arguing with herself. Her eyes would dart left, then she would set her jaw, let out a determined sigh and her eyes would dart right. This went on for about three minutes. After the first thirty seconds, Draco's eyes began wandering around the room. Hermione's flat was less Wizard than Draco had first thought. The only evidence that a witch lived here were the pictures and a heavy text book lying open on the table, where Draco noted the chapter heading: Introduction to Concealment and Disguise.  
  
So Danger Granger wants be an Auror. Draco covered the gulp form in his throat by clearing his throat. "Er, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm a bit wet over here," he said in the snarkiest tone he could manage.  
  
For the first time since Malfoy had arrived, Hermione noticed he was soaking wet. His hair was a darker, more natural shade of blonde when wet. Longer strands were pushed off to one side, but every now and then one would rebel and fall across his eye. Hermione had rarely seen Draco Malfoy looking anything less than perfect. Drops of rain rolled down his face, and for a moment, Hermione let herself imagine they were tears, and the man in front of her wasn't her childhood nemesis, but a vulnerable stranger in need of rescuing. 


	4. Dry the Rain

Chapter Three: Dry the Rain  
  
Hermione led Draco upstairs to the bathroom, where she left him with fresh towels and dry clothes.  
  
"Do you keep men's clothes around for any particular reason, Granger?" Draco asked in his snide way.  
  
"I just like to be prepared," Hermione responded, blushing at his implication. It was true; Hermione kept spare clothes and pajamas for both sexes in case of emergencies. Harry, Ron and Ginny found them quite handy on the nights they didn't feel like (or were incapable of) going home. A simple alteration charm adjusted them to fit the wearer perfectly.  
  
Draco watched her leave. She made a good point. Be prepared for anything, Draco. It was a lesson his father had tried to impart on him, one which Draco chose to ignore. He certainly hadn't been prepared for getting caught, being stripped of his powers and turning to a Mudblood for help. And not just any Mudblood, either: the one he despised above all others, because (though he'd never admit this to anyone), he saw her as almost his equal. If it weren't for that whole Mudblood thing, Draco would have met his match.  
  
At Hogwarts, Hermione had been first in their year. Draco maintained it was because he never really paid attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Draco was the one doling out the Dark Arts (or at least thinking about it). He was never on the receiving end.  
  
Still, Draco's grades were only slightly below Hermione's and were good enough to name him Head Boy to her Head Girl (No one was more shocked about this than Harry Potter, who thought he was a shoo-in on account of that Boy-Who-Lived crap). They were evenly matched in magical abilities. Her Bluebell fires were warmer and actually broke the school record for duration, but his Veritaserum accidentally made Blaise Zabini out himself as a Transvestite, whereas Hermione's only made Lavender Brown admit she had used an enlargement charm on her breasts, which everybody had already assumed.  
  
Though Draco had it in for Potter from the beginning, he quickly learned Hermione was the real threat. Potter wouldn't have survived their first year if Hermione hadn't always nagged him to study and practice spells.  
  
And then there were her looks. it was true, she'd gone through an awkward phase, but once she'd shrunken her teeth (I did her a favor really, so she owes me, Draco thought), she really had a pretty face. He remembered the Yule Ball in fourth year. He'd been sidling up to her, ready to sweep her off her feet, when she opened her mouth and he realized she wasn't some hot chick from Beauxbatons.  
  
If Hermione had been a pureblood, she would have been Draco's perfect match. They were exactly the same and completely opposite. It was all too sordid for Draco to think about.  
  
He folded his wet clothes because he was a meticulous prat. Draco had never used a Muggle shower before, but as he was quite clever, he quickly figured out how to adjust the 'hot' and 'cold' knobs. What he could not figure out was how to make the water come out of the showerhead. Right now it was coming out of the tub faucet and he sure as hell wasn't going to lie down in the tub to wash his hair. With an annoyed sigh, he called out, "Granger!"  
  
Hermione entered the bathroom to the sight of Draco Malfoy's bare back bending over the bathtub with a towel slung loosely around his hips. When he turned around, Hermione had to look away. The towel was slung even lower in the front, leaving just enough to the imagination.  
  
Below Malfoy's pointed face was a nicely toned, but not too muscular body, which Hermione respectfully did not stare at. Instead, she fixed her gaze to his left ear.  
  
Draco was completely oblivious to the effect his indecent state might be having on Hermione. "Granger, how do I make the shower work? The water's only coming out the bottom."  
  
Hermione tore her gaze away from his ear long enough to roll her eyes, then leaned over Draco to fiddle with the faucet. "It's really easy, see? You just pull this part under the faucet down and then the shower comes on," she instructed as the water came gushing from above.  
  
When Hermione brushed past him, Draco caught a whiff of her hair. It was sweet and feminine and mesmerizing. He shivered slightly, suddenly remembering how cold he was. The door wasn't even completely shut behind Hermione when he retreated into the warm steam of the shower.  
  
Hermione used the time Malfoy was in the shower to repeatedly remind herself that he was a right bastard. She drafted an owl to Ron, explaining her predicament, but thought better of it. After all, she was a powerful witch. There was nothing Ron could provide for her except a sense of security. And a big headache. A floundering Malfoy was enough to deal with. She didn't need Ron berating her as well. Besides, she already knew what he'd say.  
  
"You let Malfoy into your home?! Malfoy, Hermione! He's evil! He could do something to you. He could hurt you or kill you or.. Do things!"  
  
No, she wouldn't tell Ron. He'd just overreact. But when she closed her bedroom door that night, she sealed it with a Colloportus spell to be safe. 


	5. Simple Kind of Life

Chapter Four: Simple Kind of Life  
  
Hermione rolled over expecting to find a furry lump next to her, but the bed was empty. She blinked a few times, and her eyes wandered around the room as she came back to consciousness. Crookshanks always slept with her. Where was he? Malfoy. Hermione felt frantically around her bed for the cat, then jumped up and searched the room, but Crookshanks wasn't there. Oh lord, what if Malfoy's done something to my cat? Is he that sick?  
  
Hermione made to open the bedroom door, but it was stuck. She yanked on it hard, and the force of it smacked her in the forehead. "Crap!" she swore, rubbing her temple. The Colloportus spell! She heaved a sigh of relief. "I locked him out!" Crookshanks was probably fine. but why hadn't he at least scratched on the door to come in? What if Malfoy really had done something to him?  
  
Hermione crept down the hall to the guest room. The door was only half closed. Apparently Malfoy has no worries about me attacking him in his sleep, she thought bitterly. Hermione was taken aback when, instead of finding Malfoy in the midst of some evil act involving her cat, she saw him sound asleep, looking absolutely innocent in Weasley-esque paisley pajamas, with a completely unharmed and content Crookshanks curled in his arms.  
  
The floorboard creaked slightly as Hermione retreated, bewildered, to say the least. Draco lazily opened his eyes to the sight two large, brown eyes peering at him from underneath a tangle of untamed hair. A man could lose a hand in that mess, his groggy mind thought as he closed his eyes, absent mindedly stroking the large, furry pillow snuggled next to him. Furry pillow? His sleepy mind wondered. No, it's the hand-eating hair pillow. Mmm. soft. What? The pillow, which was now purring, had wandered to the foot of the bed and was licking Draco's toes.  
  
"Gerroff you mangy cat!" Draco mumbled, kicking his left leg half- heartedly. "It tickles!"  
  
Crookshanks did not appreciate being jostled, and bit into Draco's big toe. Draco yelped, and roughly grabbed the cat, preparing to drop him unceremoniously onto the floor. But then Crookshanks let out a pitiful mew, and Draco put him back down on the bed. The cat proceeded to lick Draco's toe in apology. Draco settled back into his pillow.  
  
He decided the cat must be evil to have such an effect on him. As he dressed, he vowed to be as stony as possible as long he was in the cat's vicinity. He couldn't afford to show weakness. Draco would not play by Granger's rules.  
  
****  
  
Hermione was almost pleasant when Malfoy demanded his breakfast. She quickly learned this was a mistake.  
  
"I thought I'd show you how to make scrambled eggs, since they're easy," she said.  
  
"You expect me to cook? That's servant stuff," he bitched. He had clearly not matured much since first year.  
  
"Well unfortunately for you Malfoy, most Muggles, and most Wizards for that matter, have to cook for themselves. Some people even enjoy it."  
  
Draco sneered, but joined Hermione by the stove. "Cooking's a lot like Potions," she said as she expertly cracked an egg. "You have to measure correctly, make sure you have the right ingredients and temperature.  
  
"But it's a little more flexible. You can play around with the recipe, and you just sort of develop a feel for it."  
  
She handed him an egg. He underestimated its fragility and crushed it in his hand. Yolk oozed through Malfoy's fingers, and bits of shell joined Hermione's egg in the frying pan.  
  
Hermione laughed. "Obviously you're better at Potions. Oh, well, we'll just start over."  
  
Draco looked at her expectantly. "Aren't you going to get rid of it?" he asked.  
  
"It's your mess, you clean it," she replied.  
  
"I can't do the Evanesco spell, remember?"  
  
"So do it the Muggle way. The sink's right there."  
  
Draco, of course, used too much soap, and was much less amused by the abundance of bubbles than Hermione. He had been cleaning for at least five minutes, and his arm was starting to get sore.  
  
"Can we eat yet?" he whined.  
  
Forty minutes later, there were two more frying pans in the sink, bubbles on the floor, and two plates of the best scrambled eggs Draco had ever tasted on the table.  
  
Feeling quite satisfied with himself, he leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "I guess I am a natural," he said with a cocky grin.  
  
"Good. Now you can mop the floor," she said, and happily watched his grin disappear.  
  
****  
  
Malfoy had never so much as seen a mop before, so Hermione ended up doing most of the job herself, as Malfoy insisted he learned better by observation. She was instructing him how to properly ring out the mop when she looked up from her task and realized Malfoy was no longer present. Sighing, she finished the floor with a wave of her wand and stalked out of the kitchen.  
  
"Malfoy!" she called. "We're going job hunting. Stop playing  
with the cat and get your shoes on." Hermione paused in her journey  
through the living room, stunned at how much she sounded like her  
mother.  
  
"Hermione, you sound like your mother," a voice said. But it  
wasn't Malfoy's. "Actually, you sound like my mother."  
  
"Ron," she said firmly into the fireplace. "What are you  
doing?"  
  
"I've come to admire your knees, obviously."  
  
Hermione shot him a nasty look, but plopped cross-legged onto  
the floor in front of the fireplace.  
  
"Now," she said. "What do you want, Ron?" But she already knew  
the answer.  
  
"I came to help you find your mind since you've clearly lost it,  
Hermione!"  
  
"Ron, I-"  
  
"Malfoy, Hermione! He's evil, remember? That little tattoo  
doesn't say 'Mum' if I recall!"  
  
"Actually, it says 'Molly'," Malfoy said languidly behind  
Hermione.  
  
Ron's eyes flashed dangerously while Hermione hurriedly jumped  
to her feet.  
  
"I'm ready to join the working world," he mocked.  
  
Hermione set her eyes on him for a moment then maintained her no-  
nonsense gaze as she turned back to the fireplace.  
  
"Not another word," she threatened.  
  
Ron disappeared.  
  
Much to her disappointment, Malfoy stayed.  
****  
  
They wandered the streets of London in silence for a while,  
which made Draco a bit uncomfortable. He baited Hermione by being as  
obnoxious as he could.  
  
"Oi, Her-mi-one!" he said loudly enough to make a few passersby  
turn. "There's a postbox. Didn't we have some mail we needed to send  
by post, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione did her best to ignore him and began walking a few  
paces ahead until he came across a condom wrapper on the ground, and  
raised his voice to get her attention.  
  
"Her-mi-oneeee! Look what I found! A condom wrapper. Where do  
you reckon the condom went? I haven't had a condom in a while, you  
know. I sure have a craving! Is there a market nearby where we could  
purchase more condoms?"  
  
Now everyone on both sides of the street was staring at them.  
One woman grabbed her child by the arm and dragged him away so quickly  
his trainers left little tracks on the pavement.  
  
Hermione whipped around, and Draco found that she was stronger  
than he anticipated.  
  
"Malfoy!" she spat. "I know you think you're being clever, but  
that was completely out of line!"  
  
It was the first time Draco had ever been called 'clever' in a  
negative connotation.  
  
"A condom is a Muggle prophylactic and civilized people do not  
go around shouting about their sexual cravings in public!"  
  
Hermione looked as if she was only beginning to berate him, but  
Draco was much more interested in condoms now that he knew they were  
sexual.  
  
"Granger," he said, reverting to her surname to indicate he was  
done being childish, "that package is pretty small. Do Muggles have  
smaller. *parts* than Wizards? How exactly does a condom work?"  
  
Hermione, however, was not about to give Draco Malfoy sex ed  
lessons in the middle of the street. She stalked off, turning only  
once to make sure he was following.  
  
Sighing, Draco ran to catch up with her. He had promised to  
play nicely, after all, and if there was one thing a Malfoy was good  
for, it was his word. Er, maybe not. But Draco was too lazy to find  
another option.  
  
"So about this job thing," Draco broached. "How exactly  
am I supposed to get one?"  
  
"Well I checked the paper this morning and found a few  
that don't require prior experience or long-term comittment," she  
replied, handing him a few pages of the paper that she had marked up.  
  
"Stock boy, cashier, cinema concessions," he read. All  
these jobs sounded incredibly menial to Draco.  
  
"Couldn't you come up with anything a little more  
challenging for me, Granger? Or at least something that requires more  
than half a brain cell?"  
  
"What did you have in mind, Malfoy? A member of  
Parliament? I thought the stock boy job looked pretty promising. At  
least you wouldn't have to deal with customers."  
  
"Malfoys don't do manual labor," he sneered.  
  
"I hate to break it to you, Mr. Malfoy," she said with a  
mock bow, "but you don't have a National Identity Number or driver's  
license or any sort of proof of your identity. As far as England is  
concerned, you don't exist. And it's just a little difficult trying  
to get a respectable job without existing, so you need to get your ego  
in check."  
  
Draco glared at her. She had a nasty habit of being  
insubordinate, and he was close to snapping.  
  
Malfoy tensed, and Hermione knew she was treading on thin  
ice. Much to her chagrin, she knew she had to make peace. They were  
only a couple of blocks from Valentine, a hip new restaurant/bar that  
Hermione had wanted to try. But there had been planning Harry and  
Luna's wedding, helping Ginny prepare for first year Auror exams and  
dealing with Ron. well, you really just couldn't take Ron out in  
public anymore since he'd been signed by the Cannons. It looked like  
the only way she was going to Valentine was with Malfoy. so be it.  
  
"Come on, Malfoy," she said, making her voice as light as  
possible. "Let me buy you a drink."  
****  
  
Valentine was two stories. The bottom floor was full of  
tables and had black and white photographs on the red walls. There  
were two bars: one on the lower level for the diners and one upstairs.  
The top level was an open dance floor with a bar lining two walls.  
The other two walls had couches and squashy chairs in different shades  
of velvet. The waitress seated them at a table by the window in the  
restaurant. The upstairs bar didn't open until 9:30. Draco perused  
the wine list while Hermione prattled on about finding him a job.  
  
"I guess we'll just have to wing it. We'll walk around  
and see who's hiring. Hopefully we'll find something to suit you,"  
she said.  
  
"We're just going to walk around?" Draco inquired  
incredulously. "How are we supposed to know who's hiring? I suppose  
they have little signs that say "Positions Available" or "Help Wanted"  
or the like," he snorted. He was being sarcastic.  
  
Hermione just gave him a little smile. Draco caught  
himself smiling back and immediately became enthralled with the drinks  
menu.  
  
"They offer sex on the beach? What is this, a brothel?"  
  
Hermione smiled again. Just as Draco was contemplating  
the oddity of this act, the waitress came by. She was tall, thin and  
blonde. Draco's first thought was that she reminded him of his  
mother. Except the waitress was smiling.  
  
Hermione wished she looked like that. Malfoy suddenly had  
this stupid grin on his face. Hermione, who had been planning on just  
having a soda, suddenly felt the need for something stronger.  
  
"I'd like a fuzzy navel, please," she told the waitress  
matter-of-factly. "Heavy on the Schnapps."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at her, then turned to the  
waitress. "What would you recommend?"  
  
"A Swedish Blowjob," she said with a smirk.  
  
Draco tried not to think of his mother. "Are you  
Swedish?" he asked.  
  
Hermione gagged.  
  
The waitress laughed. "No. It's our newest drink.  
Bailey's, Kahlua and banana liqueur."  
  
Bailey's what? He wondered. "Right," he said, with a hint  
of sarcasm that only Hermione picked up on. "I think I made something  
similar in Potions once."  
  
The waitress looked at him excitedly. "You worked at the  
Potions Lounge?"  
  
Draco glanced quizzically at Hermione.  
  
"The Potions Lounge in New York, yeah," she covered. "He  
studied there for a year."  
  
"That's so cool!" the waitress squealed.  
  
Hermione and Draco both rolled their eyes. Then Hermione  
thought of something.  
  
"He's only just got back," she said. "I don't suppose  
you're in need of a bartender?"  
  
The waitress eyed Draco approvingly. "Actually, I think  
we are. The pay's crap, but I bet you could make some decent tips."  
  
Hermione gave the waitress a genuine smile. "Great. He  
can start tonight."  
  
The waitress gave him another leering glance. "Come by  
around 8," she said. "I'll train you myself." 


End file.
